


a tapestry of scars

by splendidlyimperfect



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bipolar Disorder, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friendship, Geraskier Week, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mental Health Issues, Reference to previous suicide attempt, Roach is the best therapy dog, Scars, Self-Harm, Trauma, and Geralt tries his best to be comforting, but at least he gets all the puppy cuddles, scars from self injury, talk of previous car accident, yes I'm projecting on Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Jaskier comes into Geralt's life on a sunny afternoon in May - wide smiles and baby blue eyes; breathtaking stories and half-written song lyrics. He's mesmerizing and full of life, and Geralt can't look away. But sunshine doesn't last forever, and when Jaskier disappears, Geralt learns that beautiful things have dark and broken pieces, and even damaged people can help fix them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 117
Kudos: 804





	1. eyes like the sky

**Author's Note:**

> _How beautiful you are  
>  he said  
> a tapestry of scars._  
> -atticus
> 
> Written for Geraskier Week 2020; Day 4, 5 & 6 : hurt/comfort, realization & found family [each prompt is a chapter]
> 
> **CW for PTSD, self-harm, depression, bipolar disorder, discussion of past suicide attempt**
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [@splendidlyimperfect](https://splendidlyimperfect.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets Jaskier, and it turns his life upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Geraskier Week 2020; Day 4: hurt/comfort
> 
> TW for brief discussion of scars from a suicide attempt, and mention of a car accident

It’s entirely Roach’s fault that Geralt falls in love with Jaskier.

They’re standing outside the café waiting for Yennefer when a young guy crouches down in front of Roach and starts talking to her. Geralt glances down from where he’s been staring at his phone – it’s not unusual, Roach is ridiculously charming and sweet, and it takes forever for Geralt to walk anywhere because everyone wants to pet her. Yenn’s theory is that Geralt got stuck with an extroverted dog to make up for his general dislike for people, and she finds it hilarious.

“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” the man says, looking up at Geralt with bright blue eyes and a smile that takes up nearly his entire face. “What’s her name?”

“Roach,” Geralt says gruffly.

The man stares at him for a moment with an expression of disbelief on his face. “Roach?” he finally manages, gesturing to the fluffy three-legged golden retriever who is currently trying to sit in his lap. “You named this beautiful girl after a _bug?”_

Geralt shrugs. “She likes it.”

The man rolls his eyes, scratching behind Roach’s ear while she pants at him, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. “Well, despite your ridiculous name, you are adorable,” he says to her. She licks his cheek in response.

The front door of the café dings and Yennefer appears, balancing two coffees and a bag of pastries. As soon as she sees the man, her expression slips into something that’s halfway between exasperated and affectionate.

“I see you’ve met Jaskier,” she says, handing Geralt his coffee. 

It takes a second for the name to float around Geralt’s subconscious, attempt to make a connection to one of his conversations with Yennefer, and finally piece together that this is the guy in her art history class that she refers to as, “an idiot hipster who thought Michelangelo was a cartoon character instead of the person who painted the fucking _Sistine Chapel.”_

“Ah, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, brushing the dust off his jeans and standing. “I’m surprised you’re not off sacrificing kittens to your dark overlord.”

Yenn rolls her eyes and tosses a piece of croissant at his head, which he catches smoothly and pops into his mouth. “So,” he says, making a very obvious display of checking out Geralt from head to toe. “Tall, handsome, broody – you must be Geralt.”

Geralt’s not really sure what to say to that, so he just gives Jaskier a half nod and looks awkwardly down at Roach. He can feel Yenn’s curious gaze on him and in a desperate bid to get out from under both of their gazes, he gestures down the street.

“We’re going to the park,” he says quickly.

“Excellent,” Jaskier says, patting the top of Roach’s head and grabbing one of the muffins from Yennefer. “Shall we?”

* * *

After that, Geralt supposes that they’re all official friends because Jaskier just… doesn’t leave. Suddenly he starts to show up at the café, or trails after Yennefer when they’re done class, or sometimes appears at the park when Geralt’s spending the afternoon there with Roach.

Normally Geralt would be irritated with the intrusion – he’s not a people person, and some days he can’t even stand Yennefer, who he’s been friends with since they were kids. Plus, Jaskier never shuts up. He takes Geralt’s silences and fills them with words, with humming, with random stories and bits of songs that he sings as he picks flowers and tucks them into Roach’s fur.

Geralt listens sometimes, but other times he tunes out the words, and Jaskier’s voice becomes a muted soundtrack to the time they spend together. Sometimes Yenn tells Jaskier to shut up, but he usually just retaliates by calling her a bitch, and then she’ll call him a stupid twink, and Geralt just stops listening completely. He’s not entirely how their friendship works. They spend a ridiculous amount of time together for people who don’t really seem to like each other.

Roach adores Jaskier, of course. Every time he sees her, he immediately sits down on the ground and lets her climb all over him, licking his face and headbutting him as he sweet talks her and tells her how pretty she is. It’s the excuse Geralt uses when Yennefer starts to tease him.

“Really?” she says, raising an eyebrow and kicking him under the table. “You hang out with Jaskier because _Roach_ likes him?”

Geralt just _hms_ at her and looks the other way.

* * *

“Why did you name her Roach?” Jaskier asks one day. He’s lying on his back with his arms tucked behind his head, staring up at the blue summer sky. Roach is beside him with her head resting on his chest and Geralt’s leaning against a tree nearby, whittling a piece of wood his pocketknife. When he doesn’t answer right away, Jaskier tips his head back and looks at Geralt upside down.

Geralt keeps his eyes on the wood in his hands. His chest twists uncomfortably and part of him wants to tell Jaskier to fuck off. It’s none of his business. But there’s something about the blue of his eyes and the freckles across his nose that make Geralt feel like telling the truth might be safe.

“She was training to be a service dog,” he says. “For a friend of mine.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything, just rolls over on his stomach and pillows his chin on his folded forearms. There’s a patch of yellow flowers in front of him and he starts to pick them. There’s something comforting about the fact that he doesn’t expect Geralt to look at him when he’s talking, and that he doesn’t push. Even when five minutes pass and Geralt hasn’t said anything, Jaskier just keeps picking flowers and waits patiently.

“We got in a car accident,” Geralt says eventually. “He died and she almost did. Lost her leg.” Jaskier makes a sympathetic sound. “I took her. Changed her name. She didn’t answer to her old one.” Geralt runs his fingers over the smooth wood in his hands. “I picked it ‘cause roaches can survive pretty much anything.”

Roach perks up at her name and stands up, shaking out her fur before trotting over to Geralt and leaning against him. He gives her a half-smile, reaching up and brushing his fingers through her fur.

“Were you hurt?” Jaskier asks.

It’s not the question Geralt’s expecting, and he looks back over at Jaskier, frowning.

“You said ‘we,’” he clarifies. “You were in the accident too?”

Geralt tips his head back against the tree, staring up at the way the sunlight falls through the branches and leaves dappled shadows across the ground. “Yeah.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, then tugs it up and holds out his arm. The twisted, ugly scar that runs from his wrist to halfway up his bicep is stark against his tanned skin and he hates it.

Jaskier studies it intently, pushing himself back up again until he’s cross-legged and close enough to Geralt that they’re nearly touching. He doesn’t reach out, though, and Geralt appreciates it.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says eventually.

“’s just a scar,” Geralt says, tugging his sleeve back down and trying to push away the uncomfortable memory of metal crunching and broken glass. “Everybody’s got them.”

Jaskier nods, running his fingers up his own arm. Geralt knows there are scars there – smaller than his, random and chaotic. He’d seen them one time when they’d been in the washroom at the same time and Jaskier had rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands. Geralt hadn’t asked, but Jaskier had seen him looking and had said, “It’s a long story,” before hiding them again under his sweater.

“We do,” Jaskier says now, picking up the pile of dandelions and tossing them in a tiny cloud that drifts across both his and Geralt’s laps. Roach turns to grab a few from the air and the sight of it makes Geralt laugh.

Jaskier gives him a strange look and Geralt returns it for a second, then drops his gaze to the yellow petals scattered across his hands.

“I’ve never heard you laugh,” Jaskier says, and Geralt doesn’t know what it means when he’s disappointed that Jaskier’s right.

* * *

Jaskier is not only excessively vocal in person – he also loves to text. Somehow Geralt ends up with some kind of Twitter account, and he never touches it, but his phone is constantly exploding with messages. Ninety percent of them are from Jaskier – videos of baby wolves learning to howl, silly memes that Geralt doesn’t really understand, pictures of Jaskier in ridiculous outfits or silly photo filters.

Yenn and her new girlfriend Triss join in and decide that Roach needs her own Instagram page, so they spend hours taking photos of her rolling around in the grass and playing with Jaskier in Yenn’s back yard. Geralt leans against the edge of the porch and watches them tussle, and it makes something inside him burn bright in a way that it never has before.

So there’s texting and memes, and Jaskier bringing his guitar down to the beach to play pop songs that Geralt doesn’t recognize (Jaskier makes up new lyrics with him that are much less appropriate than the originals). They spend weekends at the Farmer’s Markets, and Wednesday evenings playing D&D, and half the time they end up at Geralt’s apartment, sprawled over the couches with pizza boxes everywhere while Jaskier and Yennefer try to beat each other in Mariokart.

Everything is gradual, and it hits Geralt one day that everything’s changed – that he’s gone from his tiny world of him and Roach to a crowd of new people that maybe don’t seem so bad after all.

* * *

Then, Jaskier disappears.

At first it doesn’t seem so strange. Geralt nearly sleeps too late one day because he’s gotten so used to a message from Jaskier appearing at exactly the right time to wake him up. Then he doesn’t hear from Jaskier throughout the day, and by the time dinner comes, Geralt’s starting to feel anxious.

He swipes through his phone for a while, eventually ending up on a photo of Roach with a crown of dandelions that Jaskier had made for her last week. He hesitates for a minute before sending it – he’s never the one to initiate their messaging – but figures that it can’t hurt.

Jaskier doesn’t respond.

 _Maybe he lost his phone,_ Geralt reasons. _Or is out of town. Busy with work. Joined a new band._ There’s a tiny, nearly silent whisper in the back of Geralt’s mind that says, _he probably doesn’t want to see you anymore,_ but Geralt’s been getting better and better at telling that voice to go fuck itself.

After the third day of radio silence from Jaskier, Geralt’s convinced that something is wrong. His phone isn’t being blown up with stupid memes or gifs or the ten thousand emojis Jaskier likes to send, and Geralt should be thankful for it. Instead he’s unsettled. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s gotten used to waking up with thirty-six notifications on his phone, all from Jaskier.

So he texts Yennefer instead.

_Have you heard from Jas lately?_

It takes her a few hours to respond which isn’t unusual, but when she does, the only thing she says is _Jas??_ with some sort of suggestive-looking emoji.

 _Jaskier,_ Geralt writes back, rolling his eyes. He refuses to add emojis – he has dignity, after all. _Haven’t heard from him in a couple days._

 _You’re an adult,_ Yennefer replies. _Have you tried, perhaps, texting him yourself?_

_How do you know I haven’t already?_

_Because I’ve known your emotionally constipated ass for twelve years and you suck at this shit._

Geralt scowls at the message, then turns his phone to ‘do not disturb’ and shoves it in his pocket. Jaskier’s probably fine – it’s not like they’re best friends or anything. They barely know each other.

But then another two days goes by and Geralt _still_ hasn’t heard from Jaskier, and the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach starts to turn into something like fear, so he gives in. He stares at his phone for almost an hour before hitting ‘send,’ and as soon as he does, he feels like an idiot.

_You okay?_

Yenn’s right, he is shit at this. It’s why he doesn’t have friends, never mind a best one.

* * *

Later that day he gets a reply.

_Hey. I’m fine, just been sick._

Geralt frowns at the message. It’s stupid, but the lack of exclamation points and emojis is unsettling. The bizarre, excessive energy that defines Jaskier isn’t there, and it feels… wrong.

 _Roach misses you,_ he replies, and he’s glad that nobody’s around to see the red flush that creeps up the back of his neck to his ears. _Do you want to come to the park this afternoon? I still owe you coffee from last week._

The only reply he gets is, _Maybe when I’m feeling better._

* * *

Later that evening, Geralt realizes what an idiot he’s been.

He’s sitting with Yenn on the bench at the park while Roach rolls around in a patch of clover, and Yenn’s talking about her date with Triss last night, and everything seems normal enough. Then Yenn rolls up her sleeves and Geralt’s eyes are drawn to the scars across her wrists, and suddenly he feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Yenn,” he says, and he knows he’s interrupting but this is important. She must sense the urgency in his voice because she stops talking and frowns at him. “You… your…” He gestures at the scars and she looks vaguely uncomfortable for a second, then nods.

“You know what happened,” she says quietly.

He hesitates, then says, “Jas has scars, too.”

Yenn frowns at him, turning on the bench and tucking a leg up underneath her. “You mean like—”

“Not the same,” Geralt says quickly. “Not—they were different. More of them.” His stomach clenches and thinks back to the awkward answer Jaskier had given him. “Fuck. He did that to himself, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” Yenn says, running her fingers along the thick marks. “It’s probably not something he’d want to talk about.”

“I know, but…” Geralt pulls his phone out and opens it to his message history with Jaskier. “He’s been weird lately. I thought he had the flu – he said he was sick.”

“He probably is,” Yenn says, scanning the messages. “But maybe not the way you think.” 

Roach appears next to Geralt, resting her chin on his knee and looking up at him. He sighs, scratching behind her ears and tapping his thumb against his phone.

“You’re right,” he says, then looks over at Yenn. “Would you—”

She shakes her head. “He and I are friends,” she says, “but I don’t think I’m the right person to help.” She gives Geralt what he thinks is an encouraging smile. “You can do it.”

Geralt huffs, standing up and grabbing Roach’s leash. “I guess we’ll see.”


	2. red, red lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to Jaskier's apartment and realizes he's not in a good place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got bipolar disorder and I'm definitely projecting here - sorry, Jaskier! At least he gets cuddles. 
> 
> Written for Geraskier Week 2020; Day 5: Realization
> 
> **TW for self-harm and mentions of PTSD**

Geralt spends twenty minutes sitting in the parking lot of Jaskier’s apartment complex before he can get up the courage to go to the door. Even once he’s out of the car, he turns around three times before forcing himself to walk up and press the buzzer. His stomach immediately ties itself into knots.

“What are we doing?” he sighs, looking down at Roach. “I’m no good at this.” 

Jaskier doesn’t answer the first time and Geralt is ready to take it as a sign and give up, but when he tries to head back to the car, Roach refuses to move. Instead she thumps her tail against the ground and barks at him, refusing to stop until he hits the button again.

“You’re awful,” he mutters at her. “You know that, right?”

She responds by headbutting his hand and panting happily when he scratches her ears.

“’lo?” Jaskier’s muffled voice comes through the speaker.

“Uh. Hey.” Geralt’s suddenly forgot everything he was going to say.

“Who is it?”

“Me.” Geralt groans, shaking his head. “Uh, Geralt.”

There’s a long silence, then Jaskier says, “Oh.”

“Can I, um… come up? I have Roach. She missed you. At the park.” Geralt’s palms are sweaty and for some reason his heart is slamming against his chest.

“… sure.”

Then the door buzzes and Geralt nearly misses it and needs to call up again. By the time he’s up the elevator and standing outside Jaskier’s apartment, he’s ready to faint and has no idea why.

Jaskier opens the door wearing pajama pants and a sweater that’s several sizes too big for him. “Hey,” he says softly, looking down at Roach and giving her a smile that only tugs up one corner of his lips. “It’s, uh… sorry, it’s a mess.”

Geralt quickly holds out the coffee cup to Jaskier, along with two of the muffins Jaskier likes from the café. “The coffee,” he says gruffly. “The muffins were… I just. I got them.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, and it seems like he means it.

The apartment _is_ a mess. Geralt had expected it to be chaotic – just like Jaskier – but this looks like someone robbed the place. Half-empty cups of tea and coffee are sitting on every surface, and a pile of books on the table looks like it’s about to fall over at any second. Jaskier quickly clears a pile of dirty clothes off one of the couches and gestures at it, then settles down into the one opposite, pulling his knees up to his chest.

As soon as Geralt lets Roach off her leash, she bounds over to Jaskier, sniffing his hands before looking imploringly at the spot next to him on the couch. A tiny smile spreads across his face and he nods.

“Sorry if she gets fur everywhere,” Geralt says, feeling incredibly self-conscious as he sits down.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier says. His voice is soft and he’s looking at Roach, who has hopped up next to him and is nosing at his face. She licks his cheek, then settles herself so she’s half on top of him, leg in his lap and head resting against his chest.

An uncertain silence settles over the three of them as Jaskier gazes down at Roach, running his fingers through her fur. Geralt can see that his hands are shaking, and he’s about to try to ask what’s wrong when Jaskier bursts into tears.

 _Oh._ Geralt’s chest tightens and he’s flooded with anxiety as he watches Jaskier try unsuccessfully to hold in a sob. Roach whines, turning in his lap and moving up so she can lick his cheeks as he cries. He wraps his arms around her neck, burying his face in her fur while his shoulders shake.

 _Do something,_ Geralt thinks, trying desperately to figure out what exactly it is he should be doing. _Anything is better than sitting here and staring._

He forces himself up and moves closer to the other couch, carefully shifting the coffee table out of the way and crouching down in front of where Jaskier is sitting. Roach’s tail pounds against the sofa as she lets Jaskier hold her tight and cry against her.

Geralt can’t think of anything to say. Asking if Jaskier is okay is stupid because he’s clearly not, but asking what’s wrong also seems ridiculous because he’s crying hard enough that he can’t talk. Geralt settles for sitting on the floor in front of Jaskier and putting a hand on his knee. Maybe knowing that he’s there will be enough.

Jaskier immediately reaches for Geralt’s hand and Geralt lets him take it. He can feel Jaskier trembling, feel the way he’s shaking from the sobs, and he turns his hand so that Jaskier can slide their fingers together and squeeze. They’ve never touched like this before – Jaskier seems to know, instinctively, how Geralt feels about touch, but like this, Geralt doesn’t mind. Jaskier needs help and this is all he can do.

They sit like that for a long time. Eventually Jaskier’s sobs peter off into smaller cries, and then hiccups, and then shaky breathing as he lets go of Roach. She stays in his lap as he wipes at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, continuing to lick his hands.

“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbles once he’s able to talk again. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.” Geralt is very aware that they’re still holding hands, but he doesn’t let go. “Are you, uh… do you wanna… talk?”

Jaskier lets out a wet laugh and finally meets Geralt’s eyes. He looks exhausted. The usually brilliant blue is cloudy and dark, and Geralt hates it.

“Geralt, the king of monosyllables, wants to talk?” The question is teasing, but Geralt’s pretty sure Jaskier isn’t being funny. He searches Jaskier’s face, trying to figure out what to say or do. People are frustrating and difficult to understand, but there’s something about Jaskier that makes it a little bit easier.

“I mean it,” Geralt says, trying his hardest to be honest. “I’ve been worried about you. You said you were sick.”

Jaskier sighs. “I am,” he says quietly. He runs his fingers up Roach’s nose and back behind her ears. “Just… up here.” He taps the side of his head and looks miserable. At first Geralt thinks he means a headache, but then he remembers the scars and the way Yennefer had looked at him.

“You mean… depressed?” he asks carefully. He’s not sure if that’s insensitive or not, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah,” he says, “kinda.” He grabs the blanket from the edge of the couch and tries to wrap it around himself, grumbling when the edge of it gets caught. Geralt stands up and tugs at it until it straightens out and Jaskier can burrow underneath it. “Thanks.”

Shifting the blanket leaves a free space on Jaskier’s other side, and Geralt hovers uncertainly next to the couch until Jaskier gestures for him to sit down. “If you would like to sit with me,” he says, “I’d like that. But you don’t have to if you’re more comforta—”

“No,” Geralt interrupts, quickly sitting down on the couch. “I just—I’m sorry. Sometimes I have a hard time, uh… figuring it out? What people need.”

“I know,” Jaskier says, still running his fingers through Roach’s fur. When Geralt sits down, Jaskier glances up at him just long enough to give him a reassuring smile, then turns back to Roach again. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Geralt doesn’t respond because he hasn’t really done anything worthy of thanking. Instead he settles back onto the couch, focusing on the warmth of Jaskier’s thigh against his. Jaskier’s still shaking, but Roach keeps licking his hands and his cheeks and whining at him, and an ache works its way into Geralt’s chest. It doesn’t take much to picture himself in Jaskier’s place, with a bandaged arm and a heart full of grief and a dog that was broken just like him, trying to keep each other safe.

“She’s a good dog,” he says roughly, and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead to hers. He never stops petting her, running his hand over her head and behind her ears as he sniffles and tries to pull himself together. His other hand clutches the blanket like a lifeline, but it doesn’t seem like enough.

“Thank you,” he says. “I didn’t mean to… it’s not…”

“Do you…” Geralt hesitates. “Do you want a hug?”

Jaskier tips his head, giving Geralt an expression that he’s not even going to bother to try and decipher. “You don’t have to,” Jaskier says.

Geralt knows that. Jaskier is good and caring and somehow understands the way that Geralt’s brain works, even when he doesn’t get it himself. But Jaskier is upset right now, and Geralt doesn’t know the right words to say to make it better. All he has is this, and for Jaskier, he’s willing to give it.

“I know,” he says, shifting his arm up onto the back of the couch. “It’s okay.”

Jaskier sniffles, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and slowly leaning into Geralt. As soon as they’re touching its as if his entire body exhales, melting against Geralt’s side as he curls up and presses his face against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” Jasker asks quickly as he shuffles closer. Geralt nods. He wraps his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders and brings his other hand down to pet Roach, who is now halfway across both of their laps.

It’s nicer than he’d expected. Geralt hasn’t hugged anyone in a long time – not since Eskel died. It makes him feel warm and important. Usually he’s clumsy; hands too big to do anything but break things, but as Jaskier sighs happily and snuggles closer, it feels like he’s finally doing something right.

* * *

They fall asleep like that.

When Geralt wakes up, Jaskier is still there, curled against him and breathing softly against his collarbone. Roach looks up at Geralt and pants happily, tail thumping against the couch as he pets her head.

“Hey, girl,” he says softly, tipping his head back and looking out the window. It’s the middle of the night, and all he can see outside is the occasional flash of headlights. He should put Jaskier to bed and go home, but the idea doesn’t sit well with him.

He looks back down at Jaskier, who looks almost happy in his sleep. One of his arms is tucked behind Geralt, and the other hand is splayed across his chest, following the rise and fall of Geralt’s slow breathing. The sleeve of his shirt has slipped back a little and—

_Oh. Oh no._

There’s a bandage wrapped around his wrist, and Geralt can see a faint stain of blood through it.

He was too late.

“Fuck,” he whispers as protective sensation rolls through him, making him pull Jaskier tighter against his chest. It’s mixed with a heavy guilt and a deep sadness that makes him feel like crying. He hasn’t cried in years, but seeing Jaskier here, hurting like this…

“G’ralt?” Jaskier mumbles as he blinks awake sleepily, shifting his hand on Geralt’s chest. “’m sorry, I didn’t…” He trails off as he realizes that Geralt is looking at his wrist and mutters a soft, “fuck.” He quickly tugs the sleeve back over his hand and tries to pull away from Geralt.

“Don’t,” Geralt says, shaking his head and keeping his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, just tight enough to hold him in place. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jaskier says softly, and his voice is soft and edged with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I’d been trying so hard. I didn’t mean to, I was… I’m sorry.” He covers his face with both hands and sniffles.

Geralt’s struck with once again not knowing the right thing to say, so instead he asks, “What can I do?”

Jaskier stills, peeking up at him with red-rimmed eyes that are filled with guilt. “You’re not angry?” he asks in a small voice.

Geralt frowns. “Why would I be angry?” he asks. “I’m…” He sighs in frustration, trying to find the right word. “Worried?” It’s not quite right, but it’ll have to do.

Jaskier sighs, dropping his arms and crossing them over his chest. He looks miserable and Geralt just wants to make it better. He misses Jaskier’s smile, and his laugh, and the stupid look on his face when he tells a particularly terrible joke.

“I’ve been feeling shitty,” Jaskier says eventually, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve. “I’ve got—I’m bipolar. And this is just… it happens, sometimes. My brain is stupid.”

Geralt isn’t certain what exactly bipolar is, but he’s got a vague idea. “Your brain isn’t stupid,” he argues, letting go of Jaskier’s arms and putting both his hands, palm-up, in Jaskier’s lap. “Just different.”

Jaskier looks like he might start to cry again, and he stares at Geralt’s hands for a few seconds before taking them. “It sucks,” he whispers. “I hate it.”

“I know.” Geralt thinks of sleepless nights, of reliving broken glass and screaming and ambulance lights over and over again. Of the way he couldn’t drive for nearly a year. Of how Roach would wake him up from nightmares, licking his face and cuddling with him as they both grieved. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier sighs, squeezing Geralt’s hands gratefully. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to have a good answer, and Roach takes the opportunity to squirm forward between both of them, looking imploringly at Jaskier until he pats her head. The tiny movement seems like it takes all his energy.

“You should sleep,” Geralt suggests.

Jaskier sighs. “I can’t,” he admits. “I just… my brain won’t stop. Or it will, but I…”

“You were sleeping,” Geralt says, gesturing to the way Jaskier had been curled up against his shoulder. An expression flits across Jaskier’s face that Geralt thinks might be embarrassment. “I could stay. If it helps.”

“You would…” Jaskier chews his lip. “You don’t like touching.”

Geralt shakes his head, pulling Jaskier back toward him until he’s curled up on his chest again, head tucked beneath Geralt’s chin. Jaskier’s fingers bunch in Geralt’s shirt, and when Geralt carefully wraps both arms around Jaskier, it feels right.

“It’s okay,” Geralt says, surprised to find that he means it. “I don’t mind if it’s you.”


	3. the way we love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt tries his best to help Jaskier, and eventually asks Triss and Yennefer for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Geraskier Week 2020; Day 5: found family
> 
> Enjoy some self-indulgent, mildly angsty fluff ^-^
> 
> **TW for talk of self-harm (cutting) and previous suicidal thoughts**

It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to fall back into a deep sleep. Geralt sits with him for a while, listening to his quiet, even breaths and thinking about the bandage around his wrist. He wonders if it’s the only one, or if there are a ladder of marks up his forearms like the scars Geralt saw before.

Thinking about it makes Geralt’s chest ache.

Geralt drifts in and out of sleep until morning comes and the sun is starting to creep across the sky. Jaskier’s still snoring softly, so Geralt shifts so he can lift him up and carry him into the bedroom. Jaskier mumbles something and presses his face to Geralt’s neck as Geralt lays him down in the pile of pillows, tugging the blanket up over him.

“C’mere, girl,” he murmurs to Roach, patting the spot next to Jaskier. Roach jumps up, turns in an awkward circle, then flops down next to Jaskier, back against his chest. Jaskier hums in his sleep and reaches out to her, sliding his fingers into her fur and exhaling as he burrows deeper into the bed.

Geralt scratches Roach’s ears, then leans down and presses his forehead to hers. It’s their comfort signal, something he’s gotten used to doing every evening before he falls asleep with her curled up next to him. Then Geralt looks up at Jaskier’s sleeping face, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he moves up and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead.

His cheeks immediately start to burn, and he pulls away, ignoring the curious look Roach gives him.

“Stay with him, okay?” Geralt says as he stands. Roach shuffles closer to Jaskier and rests her head on his chest. “Keep him safe.”

Geralt wanders back out into the living room and closes the bedroom door, then flicks on the light and surveys the apartment. It’s complete chaos – just like Jaskier’s mind right now, Geralt thinks.

He starts with the living room. It’s calming, almost – collecting the dirty dishes, running the dishwasher, wiping down the counter. He picks up the clothes that are scattered around the room and takes them to the laundry room, then opens all the windows to air out the stifling warmth. The fridge is full of expired food, so he clears it out, taking it to the garbage and making a list of everything that needs to be replaced.

Jaskier is still sleeping by nearly nine, so Geralt texts Yenn.

_Are you busy?_

_Just out with Triss. Is Jaskier okay?_

_Not really. Could you guys bring coffee and breakfast?_

Usually Yenn would come back with something snarky, but instead she says, _We’ll be there in an hour or so._

Geralt tucks his phone into his pocket, looking back at the bedroom. He’s not sure if inviting more people over is a good idea, but he’s also not confident that he can deal with this all on his own. Plus, Jaskier trusts Triss and Yenn.

He’s halfway through folding the laundry when he hears a sleepy sound from the bedroom door and Roach trots over to him, nosing at the shirts on the table. When Geralt looks over, Jaskier is standing there, sleeves covering his hands, eyes on the floor.

“Hey.” Geralt feels awkward, suddenly – like he’s intruded somewhere he shouldn’t have. He’d assumed he was helping, but he’s suddenly struck with the worry that maybe Jaskier doesn’t want his help.

Jaskier doesn’t answer, just shuffles over to the couch and stands awkwardly next to Geralt, picking nervously at a loose thread on his sleeve. Roach nudges Jaskier’s hands and gives him a small, quiet _woof,_ then looks up at Geralt.

He nods, then holds one arm out to Jaskier in an offer of a hug. Jaskier immediately leans in, pressing his face to Geralt’s chest as Geralt wraps both arms around him. It feels like they’ve been doing this forever.

“’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s sweater. “You didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” Geralt reassures him, hoping that Jaskier can hear all the things he wants to say but can’t. “How are you feeling?”

Jaskier sighs, shifting out of Geralt’s embrace and rubbing his eyes. “I dunno,” he says. “Hungry.”

Geralt hesitates. “Yenn and Triss are bringing over food and coffee,” he says carefully. A guarded expression creeps across Jaskier’s face and Geralt quickly says, “If you don’t want—I just thought...” He sighs, settling down on the couch and gesturing for Jaskier to sit next to him. “Yenn… when I... after the accident. Things—everything, it was a lot. I wasn’t good.”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably, thinking about the weeks of anger, the bitter guilt, the thoughts that had consumed him – _it should have been me, I wish it had been me, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die._

And then Yennefer had shown up, even though they’d broken up months before the accident had happened, and she’d pulled him out of it. She’d forced him to eat, driven him to physio, brought Roach back into his life.

“Yenn helped, then,” he says roughly. “I know you two... you’re...”

“Bitches to each other?” Jaskier suggests, and Geralt’s relieved to see a hint of a smile cross his face.

“You don’t mean it, though,” Geralt says. “Not really.” Jaskier nods. 

They sit quietly for a while, and Roach hops up on the couch next to Jaskier and nuzzles his hand until he starts to pet her. Geralt’s phone buzzes and a text from Yenn pops up on the screen.

_Be there in 20._

Geralt watches Jaskier’s expression carefully, but it’s hard to figure out how he’s feeling. Eventually Jaskier nods.

“I should probably…” He gestures down at his dishevelled appearance.

“Go shower,” Geralt says, gesturing to the bathroom. “You’ll feel better.” Jaskier chews his lip and stares down at his wrists. Geralt’s sure he should know what that means, but he’s so lost again – out of his element. “What’s wrong?”

“I… there’s…” Jas’s voice is small and uncertain. “Sharp things.”

_Oh._

“In the bathroom?”

Jaskier nods miserably.

“Do you want me to go move them?”

Another nod.

“Okay. Stay here with Roach.”

Roach’s tail thumps against the couch cushions and Jaskier leans into her again, pressing his face against her fur as she licks his cheeks.

Geralt tidies up the mess in the bathroom as methodically as the rest of the house, packing up everything into a small box he found and taping it shut before throwing it in the hallway garbage. Then he turns on the shower and returns to the couch, reaching out for Jaskier’s hands and pulling him to his feet.

“Will you be okay by yourself?” he asks.

Jaskier nods. His cheeks are red and Geralt can’t tell if it’s from crying or if he’s embarrassed. “Yeah, I’ll… it’s fine.”

“Roach can come with you,” Geralt suggests, and she immediately jumps down from the couch and trots toward the bathroom like she knows exactly what he’s talking about. She probably does.

Geralt finishes folding the laundry while Jaskier’s in the shower, and when he peeks his head out, Geralt hands him a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Do you need help?” he asks, gesturing to Jaskier’s arm.

“Yes.”

Geralt finds a first aid kit under the sink and motions for Jaskier to sit on the couch with him. Jaskier hesitates, and Geralt recognizes the expression of shame on his face.

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching out for Jaskier’s arm.

Geralt’s heart sinks – it’s more than just the one cut. Geralt’s not used to being gentle, but he tries his best to keep his hands steady and soft as he wraps up the wounds. Jaskier is on the edge of tears again by the time Geralt finishes, and Geralt squeezes his hands gently, trying to figure out how to make it better.

“Here,” he says, tugging off his sweater and handing it to Jaskier. He’s not sure why, but he has a feeling it might help. Jaskier looks surprised, but he nods and pulls it on with Geralt’s help, careful not to pull at the bandage.

Seeing Jaskier in his clothes does something funny to Geralt’s stomach.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, curling up against the back of the couch and looking away from Geralt. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt sets the first aid kit on the table, then shifts toward Jaskier, holding out an arm until Jaskier shifts forward and curls up against him again. It feels comfortable and familiar, and when Jaskier starts to cry again, Geralt pulls him close and runs a hand up and down his back.

“I hate this,” Jaskier says between quiet sobs. “I hate it, I don’t want—I didn’t mean to, and I felt so… I wanted to—to talk to you, and to tell you but it’s h-hard and I just get c-caught in this spiral, and it feels like nobody—that I’m a burden on everyone…”

Geralt can hear the panic start to take over Jaskier’s voice and he shushes him gently, moving his hand up to Jaskier’s hair and running his fingers through the damp curls. Jaskier shivers.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He tucks Jaskier’s hair behind his ear, and then, very carefully, presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead.

Jaskier stills and Geralt’s heart stutters, terrified he’s misread the situation or overstepped Jaskier’s boundaries. But instead of pulling away, Jaskier sighs and leans heavily against Geralt, hand splayed across his chest over the slow thump of his heart.

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmurs.

Geralt nods as relief floods through him. “I’m not great at talking,” he says roughly as he keeps running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “But I can listen.”

* * *

Yennefer and Triss arrive not long after, and Geralt pointedly ignores the look Yenn gives him when she sees Jaskier curled up in his arms. Triss immediately heads for the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and unpacking the boxes from the café.

“Hey,” Yenn says, crouching down in front of the couch. Jaskier won’t look at her but she doesn’t force him to. Instead she rests her hand on his knee and squeezes, waiting patiently for him to say a quiet _hi_ back. “Do you have meds you’re supposed to be taking?” she asks. The question is blunt, but her tone is kind.

Jaskier nods. “In the kitchen, by the microwave.”

“Okay.” Yenn disappears for a moment, then reappears with a handful of pills and a glass of water. Jaskier takes them reluctantly.

“Geralt, can you help Triss?” Yenn raises an eyebrow at Geralt and tips her head toward the kitchen. Geralt is reluctant to let go of Jaskier, but he trusts Yenn, so he squeezes Jaskier’s shoulder and then heads over to Triss.

“How’s he doing?” she asks, handing Geralt a box of croissants and a knife. He looks down at the sharp blade and there’s a twinge in his chest – maybe he should have collected and hidden all the knives, too. He’s halfway through cutting the croissants before he realizes that he hasn’t answered Triss’ question.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

“You’re a good friend,” Triss says, brushing her arm against his as she fills four mugs with coffee. She gives him a soft smile that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be reassuring and he quickly turns back to the croissants. He can just hear Yennefer’s soft voice coming from the living room.

“… didn’t do anything wrong. Nobody’s angry with you.”

Jaskier sniffs. “I feel stupid,” he says softly.

“I know,” Yennefer says. Geralt hasn’t heard her voice this gentle in a long, long time. “But you’re not stupid. You’re hurting.”

It takes Geralt back to years ago; to him and Yennefer sitting in the dark on his bedroom floor, pressed up against the wall after waking up in a cold sweat. _You’re not worthless,_ she’d said. _It wasn’t your fault. People care about you._

“You’re not alone,” Yenn says to Jaskier, and when Geralt looks over he’s surprised to see Jaskier resting his head on Yenn’s shoulder.

“I know.”

By the time they’re done getting breakfast ready, Jaskier is almost smiling. Triss sets the croissants and coffee on the table, along with a bouquet of buttercups that she’s arranged in a vase. Roach sniffs them curiously and Geralt gives her a look.

“Those aren’t for you,” he rumbles, and she looks chastised, but immediately perks up when Triss slips her a piece of croissant.

As soon as Geralt sits down next to Jaskier, he shuffles closer, and Geralt wraps an arm around him again, handing him a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he says, burrowing closer before taking a sip. The closeness makes Geralt’s heart ache a little less, and he absently runs his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm as Triss holds out the plate of croissants.

“Chocolate or plain?” she asks. Jaskier looks like he’s going to refuse so Geralt grabs one instead, tearing it in half and putting it in Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier sighs but takes a small bite.

“So,” Yennefer says, settling cross-legged on the floor and taking a sip of her coffee. “You missed quite a customer at the café this morning. He had a _parakeet_ , just sitting on his shoulder, and he’d taught it how to order his coffee.”

Geralt’s not sure what the point of the story is until he sees a small smile creep across Jaskier’s face.

“We weren’t sure if we should kick him out or not,” Triss adds, “because it wasn’t really _doing_ anything, and I have no idea if the health code includes birds.”

“And the bird did say please,” Yenn adds, laughing. Jaskier huffs out a quiet laugh of his own and the sound fills Geralt with a contented warmth.

They spend a long time talking about nothing. Triss tells them about the new plants in her garden while Yenn gossips about customers at the café. After a while, Jaskier starts to add his own comments, and by the time dinnertime rolls around, it feels like he’s nearly back to normal.

They order pizza, and then Triss challenges everyone to a game of Mariokart, which Geralt loses soundly. Jaskier stays pressed against his side as he grumbles about the controls and cuddles even closer when they decide to watch a movie. Yenn makes them all popcorn and when Jaskier grabs a piece and puts it up to Geralt’s lips, he doesn’t think twice about taking it.

“You two are so sweet, it's disgusting,” Yenn says, tipping her head back against the couch and rolling her eyes at them upside-down. Jaskier retaliates by sticking out his tongue and tossing a piece of popcorn at her forehead. Geralt notices that he doesn’t argue with her, though.

Eventually Yennefer and Triss fall asleep on the other couch, tangled up in each other with Roach wedged between them. The movie credits roll quietly and Geralt is suddenly very aware of each place that he and Jaskier are touching. Neither of them moves, and after a minute Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand and starts to trace gentle patterns across his palm.

“I feel better,” Jaskier says softly. His voice feels out of place in the soft dark of the apartment and Geralt unconsciously pulls him closer. “Not completely, but…” Jaskier leans back against Geralt’s shoulder and looks at him. “Thank you.”

Geralt’s about to answer when Jaskier tips his head up and presses their lips together. It can barely be called a kiss – the touch is feather light and lasts only a few seconds, but it’s enough to send Geralt’s heart thrumming beneath Jaskier’s fingertips on his wrist.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, as if he’s been taken off guard by his own actions.

“Oh,” Geralt repeats.

A soft silence hangs between them for moment, and eventually Jaskier says, “I know it’s—that’s probably bad timing. I don’t want you to think it’s just because…”

“I know,” Geralt says, because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t pretend that he hasn’t been in love with Jaskier since the day they met.

“Do you…” Jaskier hesitates, pulling Geralt’s hand close to his chest and running his thumb over Geralt’s knuckles. “When I’m feeling better, do you…”

“Yes.” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s forehead again, then wraps both arms around him, pulling him down until they’re lying on the couch and Jaskier’s tucked under his chin. Jaskier sighs happily, tucking his knee between Geralt’s legs and nuzzling his neck. “Go to sleep,” Geralt says softly. “I’ve got you.”

As Jaskier’s breathing evens out into sleep again, Geralt feels a warm sense of relief and fondness spread through his chest.

Jaskier is going to be okay. 


End file.
